


Vow of Chastity

by wickedrum



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: M/M, Redemption, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-17 06:52:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Jack Randall in charge of Ardsmuir Prison where it is a friendship he builds with Jamie, and much more.





	1. Marinade

**Author's Note:**

> I can never forgive Diana Gabaldon for killing off my favourite character, and without redemption at that. In my view, he was started off on a road that could lead him there with how he’d shown his love towards his brother. Which brings us to my continuation of the story.
> 
> Disclaimers: I barely own my knickers. When I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure. It's what I'd like to see happen so when I reread in a few months, oftentimes years later, thus I find a story that is completely to my taste. It has happened before ;) It's what Stephen King says too, write for yourself, not a changing audience.
> 
> Rating/Warning: some adult themes, nothing major.
> 
> Set: Bookverse, only Jack didn’t die at Culloden. 
> 
> Pairing: eventual Jack/Jamie

Chapter 1: Marinade 

 

While the fine imported Spanish wool that Jack’s long scarlet officer’s tunic was made of had usually provided him with enough warmth, even the superfine broadcloth could achieve nothing against the slanting, drizzly rain that had let up none in the three days since he’d left Dundee and it was now sticking to him uncomfortably. Past the Drumrunie Forest however, there were not even trees to provide any shelter on the bare and exposed Scottish coastal road and so his only solace was trying to get to Ardsmuir Prison as quickly as was humanly possible. That his map told him that the islands he was looking at were called Summer Isles was a joke and the darkness, and the wind that it was bringing with it was approaching fast. Jack urged the horse on, not even contemplating to try to fire himself up with the little brandy he still had at the bottom of his flask as it was too cold to think of moving his body in any way that was not absolutely necessary or took warmth away from his torso. 

 

Having been assigned to be in charge of the Highland prison had clearly been no distinction despite the climb in rank, but then again that was the fate of an officer in the army of His Majesty, especially of one that could not distinguish himself of late for various health problems that occurred after a certain encounter with a herd of cattle and Red Jamie’s sword one more than one occasion. In the years that followed Culloden, he had constantly been ill and found it hard to keep up with duties. The outpost at the Western end of Scotland was surely either going to kill him, or give him some respite. Being caught outside in this weather was clearly not an option. It wasn’t even about survival, it was about the choice of a better death than hypothermia. 

 

In the murky twilight, he almost missed the grey walls of the prison, jutty and stoney and decaying just like any of the eroding peaks of the surrounding hills. He had to wonder at the discipline and general security as he rode through the gate unaccosted or questioned and there were no further interruptions either till after he dismounted and rushed in the first door that could save him from the slush dropping from the heavens, unable to decide whether it wanted to be snow or rain. It wasn’t much warmer inside the stone walls either and it took him a holler before a couple of soldiers came running down the stairs, looking at him in a startled manner. “Major Randall?” The shorter man tried. 

 

“Is that all you have to say to me, Private?” Jack presented his best authoritarian voice and even though he’d been incapacitated a lot of late, he hoped that his Black reputation would still speak for him. 

 

“I am very sorry, Sir, we did not expect you his side of Yuletide. I will have your quarters heated immediately,” he indicated to his companion that he should run and make it so.

 

“Wait,” he halted movement, “my leftenants?”

 

“I will notify them of your arrival,” the rushing man added to his chores. He did not look forward to accosting the drunken officers. 

 

“What are you waiting for, show me to my rooms,” Jack wasn’t sure if he could keep on his feet much longer and how would that look like in front of a subordinate. 

 

“This way.” 

 

It was unfortunate that it was through the courtyard and out into the nippy air that the man led him through so it was only after the heavy door was closed on the other side of the building that Jack ventured to open his mouth again, “do we have wine?”

 

“Wine? No Sir, but there’s plenty of whisky, gin and ale. Your predecessor stored some brandy too, you should find it in one of the cases in your quarters. You must be hungry too. I will have some cheese and ham sent up,” he flung a door open on the corridor, “well here we are.”

 

“Major Weston died in here?” Jack eyed the bed.

 

“Yes Sir, it was very sudden, but you know how apoplexy can take the old in a trice.”

 

“Hm,” Jack grunted his assent, completely convinced it was where he would die too, perhaps right there and then if he doesn’t get to lean over and grab his stomach. Recovering from a journey like that could take weeks for him. “Bring water to boil too,” he instructed before closing the door behind the man, knowing how a cloth dipped in it could help his cramps and kept under the coat, it stayed unnoticeable too. 

 

Tbc


	2. Pushing the Pen

Chapter 2: Pushing the Pen

 

Taking advantage of the fact that things didn’t exactly move at breakneck speed at the Northern outpost, Jack took his time taking advantage of the few luxuries the place was able to offer a weary traveller. He found the brandy alright and enough blankets to even make a bed with right there and then on the chair he leaned back on behind the bureau, feet up on the table so that his knees were pulled up closer to his abdomen, a posture he often found most assuaging in regards to the cramps. To anyone looking in on him, he was the epitome of relaxation as he rested his head against the wall behind him, the blankets covered his weakly shaking as well along with the hand that barely left his stomach. 

 

“I am sorry the cheese got wet on the way, it is pouring out there at the moment, you just arrived on time before it really came down out there! But I could try make it to the storeroom again,” the private started. 

 

Jack waved him off. Cheese would never settle his insides, probably the opposite, “what’s your name?”

 

“Sebastian Evans, Sir.”

 

“Alright Evans, can you read and write?”

 

“As much of it as you need in Sunday school, yes Sir.”

 

“Well then, consider yourself my personal assistant. Extra rations and in the know. Now go fetch the inventory.”

 

“Sir if I may.”

 

“What.” Jack had to admit he could never sound half as gruff and threatening as he used to be, not with having to watch his posture so he didn’t set off a mountain of pain around his midsection. 

 

“If I am your personal assistant then I should tell you that there are more important issues in the fortress to be dealt with than the inventory as such.”

 

“What.” Jack ground his teeth in frustration this time. He certainly did not have energy for much more than paperwork, if that.

 

“The Highlanders, they can be trouble.”

 

“Well, obviously! Isn’t that what they’re here for! Does nobody know how to deal with prisoners around here! A few example making sessions, punishments, withdrawal of necessities and everyone will fall in line.”

 

“In normal circumstances, that would be true Sir, but these obdurate men, damn them, will only do anything if their chief approves, no matter the consequences. Mind you, he has not been difficult at all and only has the welfare of all in mind. Still, you will not be able to achieve anything without his support.”

 

“What kind of prison is this!” Jack would have rolled his eyes if the slightest movement wasn’t making him feel nauseous. 

 

“It worked well with the previous officers in charge and I should know, I’ve been here for three changes in command during my five years and he’d been here for all of it too. I’d recommend speaking to him first.”

 

Jack frowned. It wasn’t at all how he would even contemplate doing things, but the weirdness of it made him curious and it would be a perfect opportunity for him to make sure things like this don’t happen anymore and solidify his stance and status at the fortress, Black Jack style. “And what does he think gives him the right to act like that!”

 

“He was a senior Jacobite officer, the Pretender’s most trusted they say. The soldiers fear him, especially those who had met him in battle. Guards and prisoners alike would sit around, sharing tales of him.”

 

“And that’s not more of a reason to put him in his place?” Jack had the urge to shoot his subordinate in the head there and then. 

 

“I conjecture you’re right Sir and I wish you all the luck to do so.”

 

“What does that supposed to mean! Bring that prisoner here immediately!” It looked like he needed to put things right sooner rather than later, and that included his subordinates. This was crucial, even if he wasn’t in the best shape for it.

 

Tbc


	3. Ticker Matters

Chapter 3: Ticker Matters

 

It wasn’t his normal ailments that made Jack nearly faint, he was sure of that. The prisoners’ roll was right in front of him on the desk, he should have looked at it earlier and maybe then the sight of the taller than the average Scotsman didn’t gut him so much. Several moments have passed before Jack could muster a reaction, “I was under the assumption you had died at Culloden. I have seen you fall.”

 

“I was under the assumption ye died at Culloden, I have wounded ye myself,” Jamie countered. His appearance of fierceness had nothing to do with the colour of his long hair but the blaze in his eyes, his deep, resonating voice stirring sensations in his conversation partner that Jack had not experienced in a long time. 

 

“It appears that we were both wrong, Mr. Fraser,” Jack tried to get his voice steady and his jubilant emotions under control, then playing the courteous gentleman they’ve often played around in each other when in company, he pushed his plate towards the other side of his desk, “leg of mutton?” Not as if he could eat it himself, the meat that was brought up for him as a treat was actually too chewy for his delicate digestive system.

 

“No fe me, but I wi’d take it fe the lads,” Jamie played the gentleman as well while attempting to not deny the prisoners some sustenance and keeping his dignity at the same time. 

 

“See to it, private,” Jack wanted the guard out the way, the same as the slab of meat that now disappeared. Best of all, they were alone, the Scotsman in chains and at his mercy once more. Such a gift would never be from god, but nonetheless precious. “I am glad to find you alive, you know,” he shared the truth.

 

“I can’t say the same, Major is it now? Though I hav’ te mention, ye do no look the embodiment of all that is hale,” Jamie was observant enough to notice the reluctance of his movements and his thin frame, “Scottish diet no suitin ye?” The prisoner allowed himself some playfulness, after all, how long did he have with Randall in charge before he was flogged again or worse. 

 

There was no way Jack was going to indulge such questions. “I’m surprised your woman did not come to rescue you yet. How long have you been a prisoner for I wonder? Ten years?” He really wanted to know. Claire’s expertise could come in handy with his ailment as a bartering commodity. 

 

“Claire does no ken where I am,” Jamie shared, “Claire does no ken I live.” There was no point to even pertaining to a hope of some sort of help coming from her and he’d rather Jack left her out of it at any case. 

 

“Prisoners are allowed to write the occasional letter.” If anyone could help him, it was the witch doctor.

 

“What do ye want with Claire,” the Scot narrowed his eyes at him, “ye want something, don’t ye, I ha’ no doubt, or else ye’d no ask.” A small smirk played on his lips, “I can see ye’re no well.”

 

Jack gave him a sharp look, but there was no heat in it. There was no need for admissions, neither being angry about it as the other already knew. He was ill enough to wish for the white witch. “I am told that you think yourself in charge over the prisoners.” The redcoat wanted to bury the other matter under the rug as much as he could. 

 

“It has been my honour to be able to look out fe their welfare when possible in the past, aye.”

 

“A welfare you no doubt still care for, my honourable man?” Jack’s sarcasm was offhand.

 

“If ye’d intend fe them to be used as bargaining chips, then no. They’d no stand fe it, and neither would they expect me to lower myself fe their benefit.”

 

“Bargaining chips, huh? Not a bad idea, Fraser. However, I doubt I would have an interest in any of them besides them being labourers. You however, you need a good bath, a shave and some better clothes, preferably warmer.”

 

“Damn right all the men would need that!” Jamie chose to point out even though he knew perfectly well the Englishman would have had completely different reasons than his welfare to see him more laundered.

 

Jack waved a careless hand, “then you all shall be welcome to have it.” He had no energy to argue about details. 

 

Jamie’s forehead creased in surprise and suspicion. He would have been lying if he would have said his confusion did not show in his whole bearing. “I don’t understand, what the bloody hell do you want, Jack?” 

 

“Advisably, for you to indulge me and accept a dinner invitation for tomorrow evening,” Jack presented cooly. Right now, there was no other way he could approach the man he still thought about every night and every day. For flogging, never mind taking the Highlander by force he did not have the strength for and neither were those measures efficient, not on the long term. “Anything from the table you do not consume will be given to the other prisoners from your cell.”

 

The redhead glared at him in irritation, nostrils flaring. The notion of the prisoners’ welfare was indeed used and not in a way he could refuse. “Damn ye all the way to hell Randall, what is yer cook serving?” 

 

Tbc


	4. Warm Collation

Chapter 4: Warm Collation

 

Jack directed all his efforts and energy he had for the next day on making himself presentable for the dinner. He ordered his bathtub to be filled, had taken out his spare shirt from his case, rubbed at his face to give it more colour, redone the plaids in his hair, used up a fair amount of his precious little tonic that usually livened him up enough to be able to ignore stomach pains when it was necessary. Nothing compared however to the stimulation the sight of one James Fraser elicited in him, “were you not supposed to have been provided with more clothing!” Jack’s eyes shot daggers at the guard accompanying the entering prisoner in reproach.

 

“It’s no his fault Randall. They’ve given us extra sheepskins but that’s most likely all they have and I couldn’t exactly wear one of those,” Jamie defended his jailer. 

 

“Anybody among you who could fashion clothing, knit, heckle?” Jack preferred his prey a bit more spruce.

 

“There are sure but there’s nothing to work with.”

 

“Rabbits, game around here?”

 

“In the surrounding areas? Of course.”

 

“Good. Evans write this down. New orders. Two guards with one prisoner to go out every day hunting, preferably with one from the area who knows the best spots for it. Also, add to the list of things to do: request cloth allowance from London. Now tell me Fraser, weren’t you supposed to shave.”

 

“In this weather, facial hair will keep us warm. Most took advantage of the offer of a sharp knife to hold for once though and did trim those beards,” Jamie stood awkwardly. None of the men in the cells had the experience of having encountered Jack before and there were whispers of them being thankful for his treatment of the prisoners so far despite his reputation, none of which was making any sense to the redhead. 

 

“Hm. You can leave us now Evans, Fordby,” the prison commander showed he had learned the names of his subordinates, at least the ones’ he was in more contact with. “Sit. I got fish in from the village.”

 

Jamie did not make a move, disregarding the sweet charred smell he did not have the privilege to experience for years. The soldiers had been partaking of it at times, but he never got this close to getting a proper whiff. “What are ye playing at, Randall?”

 

“Our story. It always gets interrupted. But maybe not tonight,” the redcoat raised pointed eyebrows to usher the other in the seat’s direction at the opposite side of his table. 

 

“We don’t have a story. Besides of me getting the opporchancity to properly gut ye fe once.”

 

“Not tonight though, either,” Jack teased, “that’s maybe a story for another day.”

 

“In good faith, ye truly expect me to dine with ye?”

 

“No. I expect you to save all of it for your cellmates, but you do have to sit down for the deal to count.”

 

Jamie shuffled forward reluctantl. He would have been able to convey his anger through his movements properly just fine if not for the chains round his ankles clinking. “I’m here ye bastart, now what do ye want with me. I don’t see ye eating either! Mind ye, I have no seen ye out of that chair, no as much as move. Something the matter?” The Scot intended the mock fully. While Jack could still order a flogging, he highly doubted he would be able to deliver it himself. “As I said, ye do no look well.”

 

“It shouldn’t surprise you. I would consider my debt paid with the amount of injuries you’ve caused me.”

 

“Perhaps,” Jamie was quite chuffed with himself, “but some of those debts cannae be paid that way.”

 

“How can they be paid then?” Jack continued to tease, knowing his conversation partner will hardly go there. Jamie was perfectly able to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh regardless of the gender of the person providing it, but it would have been too taboo for him to even contemplate admitting that to himself. 

 

“One day, I will get to kill ye,” the prisoner stayed with the ordinary tune.

 

“You are a great swordsman, aren’t you? Your warrior reputation is hard to escape anywhere. And yet, here I am.”

 

“Not exactly a fair fight, with me in chains.”

 

Jack rummaged under a pile of papers at the side of the desk, then threw him a key, just the right size to fit into the lock holding his feet together. Jamie applied it just as wearily as he had caught it, then attempted to gingerly move the freed limbs in a direction they couldn’t previously, an act that for dignity’s sake, he had to give up on for the moment, “what’s the meaning of all this, would ye be done with the enigma,” his voice was getting into a threatening sounding direction.

 

“You are my clerk, I want you to be able to follow orders quickly.”

 

“I am your what now?”

 

“Clerical worker. We will be dealing with all the paperwork here together.” The thrill of it was clear in his dark eyes. 

 

“Do what ye must but if it’s quick writing you wanted, you shouldn’t have broken so many bones in this hand.”

 

“I know you James Fraser. You will do perfectly,” Jack marvelled at the handsomeness of his newly appointed clerk.

 

Jamie’s first instinct was to refuse. The punishments he could take, yet he could not ignore the advantages. Being without chains, access to decent meals for more than just himself, a warm desk by the fire, the knowledge of all that was going on at the fortress, a possible chance presenting itself up on a platter to be able to kill the rapist during the numerous times they would be alone. The redcoat wasn’t hale, a blind man could see it, there was no way that Randall could subdue him like he once did. “Fish is easy to digest, and the tatties will give ye strength, that’s what Claire would say,” he recommended their supposed dinner.

 

Jack snapped a fishtail off and put it into his mouth, “there. The rest can be sent to your cellmates right now if you so choose. I keep my promises when it’s my word I’ve given, always.”

 

“That I do ken.” Jamie’s pointed look at the plates prompted the Englishman to call back his guard and have the food taken down to the cells. He held a bottle of port up, “this however was not part of the bargain,” he took a large glug. “Fetch yourself a glass from the shelves if you like and drink.”

 

Jamie stood, but didn’t take off towards the wall, “allow me,” he nodded towards a ceramic pot by the window from the inside of which he produced a bottle of whiskey.

 

“I see you had the previous commandants by the balls.” Jack’s look was appreciative, like some savage pride, “and yet, you belong to me now, officially and all.” He couldn’t help but rejoice over that with a dreamy smile.

 

The Scot poured some of the amber liquid for his host before serving himself and raised the cup, “I accept the clerk with one condition. Touch me and I will pull yer guts out one by one with that penknife you’re so graciously offering.”

 

Jack rolled his eyes, “and that will hurt more than what I’ve already experienced?” But he clinked his cup to his guest’s anyway.

 

Tbc


	5. Humdrum

Chapter 5: Humdrum 

 

Five Months Later

 

Leaning back comfortably in the chair as if he owned it, Jamie sat down the book he was reading. While it was remarkable that Randall would keep a copy of a Scottish philosopher’s work, the scribe did not find An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding particularly useful and applicable to everyday life, especially not in a prison. Jamie had it easy, he had to admit that. The nights he still mostly spent in the hard and cold cells, but he was rarely sent out to do any hard work exposed to the elements. After catching up with the paperwork left by the previous commandant, writing up all the weekly inventories and receipts was easy enough and mostly he had nothing to do but cosy up in front of the fire with a good book or busy himself with fashioning new quills for the lack of anything better to do.

 

Jack had been no trouble, no trouble at all, though surely not of his own accord. Jamie had been right in his assumptions that the Englishman was ill, but he didn’t quite realise how ill till he saw it first hand. His once tormentor suffered from random fevers, but even when not it was hard for him to keep much food down or get out of bed for any length of time. What he needed Jamie for was to organise everything discreetly in his stead, job that the Scot did not mind performing. It was better for the prisoners that way, better for everyone. “Hey,” he called out gently, noticing the other move on the bed, “I’ve left ye some bread. Ye need to eat something.”

 

The redcoat gave a dismissive hand gesture which Jamie interpreted as acceptance of what he offered and walked over to set the plate down next to the pillow, “why don’t you just kill me instead,” Jack picked up the piece half-heartedly. Must’ve been one of his worse days.

 

“I currently have no desire to hang. Will let ye ken if that changes.”

 

“A little poison would do, I don’t need more and nobody would know,” Jack teased. “Surely, you have learnt some herbalism from that witch wife of yours.”

 

“It’s no my style, ye ken. But authorise me to go over into Lairg and I could order the right ingredients from the apothecary fe belly twists. I’ve seen Claire make the verra ones often enough.”

 

“Lairg? I can’t let you go to Lairg, it’s over a day’s journey and a great many miles.”

 

“Well, come with me then if ye must,” Jamie was thinking the to-be-endeavour over in his head.

 

“Pray tell my boy what business do I have in Lairg with a prisoner in tow.”

 

“Supply run? They sell good sheepskin there.”

 

“It is also closer to habitable land, civilisation if you can call it that. That’s your play perhaps.”

 

“What good would it do me to run away? Unless I serve out my sentence, I cannae go home. Besides, I’m bored ta death here and I could buy some tonics fe the men too, heaven kens they need it. Ye could send a few of yer guards with me.”

 

“A few? I give the orders here if I may remind you and might be ill but I haven’t gone soft in the head. A few would never be enough to hold you, chains or no chains. I’m coming.”

 

“Suit yersel’ if yed like to depart this life,” Jamie growled, not sure why he was so angry right now, “I care no,” he added, perhaps to prove to himself. 

 

“We wait some days till I’m better a bit. You’ll see to it, Fraser.”

 

“There’s no much I can do man, no without remedies,” Jamie humphed on repeat. It has been to follow orders at first, then it became some mechanic routine he went through most days, making sure the room was well aired but cosy, that Jack regularly had things to drink and eat that were easy on the stomach, a warm compress for the cramps, help with getting ready and presentable if he needed to put up a front for the others. His bony frame was easy to lift so when Jack threw up all over himself then Jamie eventually resorted to simply placing him over to the chair till he cleaned up. “I ken you’ve cheated death many times but I wouldnae recommend the trip. I give ye my word that I will be coming back.”

 

“No, it’s done, I shall try to come,” Jack settled the matter. It’s not that he didn’t trust Jamie’s word, but there was no way of telling how long he would be alive for. He wouldn’t want to miss having Jamie as the last thing he saw on this earth before his descent to hell. “You have that compress there?” He wanted to get on with the plan.

 

“Aye,” the Scot stepped over to the fire where a cauldron lay at the side on the ash, far enough not to boil but warm enough to be used. He squeezed the extra water out the piece of cloth they used and raised the dragoon’s shirt to place it under without thinking about it twice, or even once, he had been doing it without incident for months now. Sometimes he wondered how much he could have cut Jack down there in the duel as there was no evidence of anything moving or sticking out much. Aside from his health, he probably wouldn’t have been able to molest him if he wanted to. Anything else malicious would have been a stretch too. There were words sure, but otherwise the beast was essentially neutered. 

 

Jamie smoothed the piece of cloth out on the man’s midsection. There had been a protruding little belly there once, the Scot could see it in his mind’s eye, but there was nothing left of it. Jack’s abdomen was concave, weakened muscles tightening madly as if every touch hurt him. Why it did not give Jamie satisfaction, he did not know, he wished for it and yet, it didn’t feel quite right. “I’ll get ye some water,” he settled on a course of action and picked up the flask.

 

Tbc


	6. Moorlands

Chapter 6: Moorlands 

 

“I’ve told ye to stay at Ardsmuir,” Jamie carried Jack into the small hut probably there for a shephard’s use in the summer, leaving the party of five redcoats accompanying them outside. 

 

“A little late for that. Touching though, how you care for my welfare,” the older man made a half-hearted attempt at winding the other up, and with a grin he forced out too. 

 

“We’ve got to be going and yer slowing me down considerably,” the Scot lamented, “this whole time, I’d ha’ been back with the supplies fe the men by now,” he placed his jailer atop a pile of hay, not sufficient enough for a bed but better than the rotting wooden planks serving as the floor of the structure.

 

“You’d leave me to die alone?” The state of his health had not deterred the Englishman from goading the object of his affections, “don’t you feel regret you don’t get to finish me off? It would be understandable you know.”

 

“Stop it, don’t tempt me,” Jamie organised the stones into place that were surely there for the use of arranging a hearth, “fe now, ye need to warm up,” he placed his fleece over the other for starters, “there’s no much else I can do fe ye here though,” he scrutinised the invalid with what could be interpreted as some kind of regard. 

 

“I don’t think so. You can and you know it,” Jack uncurled a little from his position of cradling his midsection to look up at him. 

 

“I couldnae say. Ye made sure my hands could never be as gentle as they should,” Jamie reproached him his hand injury again, not to moan but to remind the other. 

 

“Still. Try anyway,” the Englishman’s eyes were pleading, yet it was clear it was an order, and an enthusiastic one at that, considering his state of health. 

 

“Alright.” After a short pause, Jamie settled down next to him to go ahead with the little routine they’ve had going over the last few days. At first it was to keep the sick man from falling from the saddle, Jamie’s strong arms around him, trying to find a way to hang onto him without hurting him too much. But contrary to how the Englishman had always shirked back when anyone neared his stomach, after a while with the prisoner’s calloused palms clutching at him, he leaned into the knuckles instead. Now he asked for it in particular as the pressure exerted had apparently alleviated the culmination of cramps. 

 

Jamie positioned himself behind him and placed the other against him, like they had been in the saddle, wondering once more how Jack was even alive if judging by how rigid and convulsing his belly felt. The Scot wasn’t sure if he himself would have not sent a bullet to his own head to end the torment. “I’m no going fe the gallows fe yer killing’s sake,” he thought out loud, “besides, killing ye would be too much of a mercy fe me to consider it.” He didn’t mean the last bit, not really, but he had to appear as if his stance on their shared past was still as solid as it has once been. He started to rub the other’s belly instead, none so expertly nor systematically, just keeping his attention on the minute or sometimes more sizeable reactions the older man elicited, twitches, moans, changes in breathing. Jamie let those guide him.

 

His own reaction was unacceptable. The Scot bit his lip to shake himself out the sensation and blanked it with visions of his mother, the cross and the Holy Bible, but his body did not comply and not for the first time. Over and over, he felt that little stirring that would soon develop into rousing no matter what he did and this time, he couldn’t even blame Jack for it. Telling himself it was satisfaction over seeing his once tormentor suffer only served him so long. He might have wanted vengeance, but his morals wouldn’t let him take pleasure in another’s agony, not for long, he knew that. Embarrassed, he wished to get out the situation, he wished his nemesis was well enough not to need his touch and he had sworn to help him too. Then it came to him, “Jack. Ye wanted help from Claire. I believe I might be able to take ye to her,” he thought of the stone circle being less than a day’s journey from where they were at that point.

 

Tbc


	7. Hereafter

Chapter 7: Hereafter

 

Jamie did not understand much of the world around him, but he did understand that he should have heeded Claire’s warning that the stones were not a failsafe device for time jumps as the two travellers have overshot with a good fifty years and had ended up in the Scotland of twenty-first century, still struggling to gain its independence, but in a completely different way. 

 

The man out of his time wasn’t sure what to do about it all. On the one hand, he was no fugitive here and he liked this bonnie and prosperous contemporary Scotland, on the other he didn’t belong and still missed Claire even if there was no way of telling where he would end up if he tried passing through the stones again. He guessed it was this uncertainty and wish for clarity from the only other individual who he knew of in this time who went through a similar experience that propelled him towards Jack’s hospital room and the weird machines and equipment not even Claire had ever mentioned to him. 

 

The Englishman did not hide the slow, appreciative, self-servient, knowing smile at Jamie’s hesitant entrance. “You’re still here.” 

 

“Aye,” Jamie settled on the light green chair made from a material he now knew was called plastic. 

 

“Isn’t this marvellous?” Jack raised his shirt to point out the dressing covering various parts of his stomach, “they cut you up to pieces and yet you heal instead of dying.”

 

“The wonders of modern medicine,” the Scot agreed, “I doubt ye would have survived otherwise, with or without Claire.”

 

“Perhaps it has to do with why we ended up in this century. I recall you’ve maybe mentioned that thoughts and aims at the crossing count.”

 

“It’s a conceivability. When are ye able to leave this place?”

 

“Why Jamie, you have something fun in mind?” Jack couldn’t help himself not to tease the other. 

 

“I wouldnae be right ta let ye walk out on yer own,” the Scot ignored the goad. While Jack had absolutely no standing here, he couldn’t just leave the sadist to roam the world freely. 

 

“They want me to be able to feed myself first,” the patient raised his shirt again to point out the ending of a tube, “they use this bit to pour some sort of slop into me,” Jack was clearly just as weirded out as he was fascinated, “so I’m guessing it will be a while, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

It gave the other a little pause. “I truly saved yer life didn’t I,” Jamie shook his head at himself. If only it led him to Claire like the plan had been. 

 

“I shall not be going back,” Jack nodded at the muted television set above him to the side where two men were seen in what could be called a compromising position where they came from. “It appears that people of the same sex can get married here,” his voice dipped to almost whispering confidentially, as if not entirely believing it himself. 

 

“I’ve noticed,” Jamie admitted with a calculating, assessing look, though he wasn’t going to admit that he had spent the last few weeks with nothing but researching the fascinating subject. Apparently it was completely normal to get a rise out of your privates when watching men getting intimate even if you were mainly interested in women. It made him feel stupid for wanting to off himself for it in the past. “Do ye ken how to work with wood?”

 

“Hm?” Jack was quite unsure of the question’s purpose. 

 

“Ye willnae stay in hospital forever. Ye need ta do something after. I’m renting a small shop down the street.”

 

“I don’t suppose you endeavour to offer me work are you?” Jack was now even more unclear.

 

“I am an honourable man. I reckon yer my responsibility, fe better or worse, fe bringing ye here.” Used to taking care of the man, it seemed like a natural continuation. Moreover, there was nobody else in the world who could relate to their particular situation. 

 

“I would laugh but it would hurt. You don’t think I’d take advantage?” The older man looked at him curiously. 

 

Jamie out and out laughed instead, “here? If ye haven’t noticed, this is a set-up where ye possess no advantage over me whatsoever.” He felt quite confident about himself saying it too, as if he had just climbed Ben Nevis. 

 

Jack’s eyes lingered on his conversation partner as if contemplating till the view and prospects of what could transpire between them made him lick his lips in anticipation. Jamie might think he had the upper hand, but who’s dream was it for them to live together? Jack found it quite hard to hide his devious smile and keep his lusting passions in check. He only just about managed it because it was for a good cause!

 

The End.


End file.
